


mint is a spring color

by deniigiq



Series: no burden is he to bear [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bonding, M/M, Multi, Nail Polish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: Sam paints his nails. Steve doesn't know how to ask for things.





	mint is a spring color

**Author's Note:**

> might be helpful to know that my steve is genderqueer while reading this.

Sam’s new thing was painting his nails. Nat had done it with him a few times the months before to help him learn how to steady his hands and get the brush to fan out at just the right angle with just the right amount of paint. He’d experimented with jewel tones—burgundy, emerald, fuchsia. Today was a new day, however, and he was a new man and he’d seen a display next to the loofas and shampoo in Walgreens filled with “fresh shades for spring.” Mint Mojito—the color of sea glass--sat on the shelf between Caution Citrus and Peachy Keen. Now Sam was no fool. $10 for a bottle of polish spelled o-u-t-r-a-g-e-o-u-s. But the week before, while scrubbing the remnants of Blue Bottle with a silver crackle coat off his nails while Nat soaked Bloodlust off hers, Nat informed him that when it comes to polish, sometimes the more expensive, the better it actually is. She’d then gone on to ponder the merits of gel polish and whether the clear coat for sealing in rhinestones would prevent blood from seeping in.

So Sam decided that he’d worked hard for the last few weeks, and his boys were exhausting, and he deserved nice things and, so he bought Mint Mojito for all ten of those damn dollars. The weight of the bottle felt comforting in his hand.

He dropped the bottle in his pocket and forgot about it until after work. Halfway through dinner—where Sam’s new thing was nail polish, Buck’s new thing was putting nuts in everything, up to and including meatloaf—the inside of his elbow bumped against the bottle and he decided that tonight was Mint Mojito.

He always started with the left hand and conceded that his right one would look like shit. It is just the way with some things. He put on a quick coat of clear polish and completed the obligatory hand flailing to inspire it to dry. Mint Mojito was thick and waxy and stank to high heavens, and the brush was wide-set. It fanned out like a dream but threatened the edges of his cuticles. Next time he went to the store, he decided, he’d pick up a paint brush for nail polish remover to clean up the edges like he’d seen on Instagram.

The cool, wet sensation of polish setting helped him focus and within a few moments, the left hand was done and ready for an age and a half of drying. He fumbled through the right hand as carefully as he could (only a few little smudges which could be repaired later), and re-assumed the nail drying position. Steve chose this moment to pop his head into the door, gym bag thrown over his shoulder and reeking of sweat. He’d skipped dinner for the gym twice that week; Sam was beginning to think he’d finally made another real human friend.

“Hey you,” Steve offered softly, not wanted to disturb Sam’s atmosphere.

“Hey yourself,” he called back. “How was the gym?”

Steve hummed, shrugged, and said “It was alright.” Sam looked up.

“Just alright?”

Steve shrugged again. “Kid there keeps asking me to show him how to box. He’s maybe 18. Told me he wants to get strong. Think he might have something going on at home; he always looks kinda sad when I tell him I’m gonna go.”

“So that’s why you’ve been late.” Sam said; surveying his handiwork. The nails would be a minute, he knew, and then a second coat would be an even longer minute, and then the top coat would be and even _longer_ minute. Steve didn’t respond from the doorway. When he had feelings he tended to hug doorframes, as if he wanted to sit in that liminal space until the emotions were over.

“Yeah,” he finally mumbled. “What’re you up to?”

“Painting my nails.”

“You got rid of the blue?”

“I got rid of the blue last week, Steven. Pay attention, now.”

“I _liked_ the blue. What’s the color this week?”

“You say that for every color. It’s green.”

“I like every color. Can I see?” Steve leaned a little more into the room, holding his hand out for the bottle. Sam wondered if Steve would want to paint his nails. Buck did, although as a rule he only painted them various shades of black. He was very meticulous about his black polishes; blue bases were okay, brown bases unacceptable, and red or purple bases optimal. Buck was also pretty snobby about his polishes; he went online and read and watched review after review before skulking off to his room to order them.

“Untrue. When we went into that house the other day with, what was it? “Irish Tweed” walls? You disappeared for a minute, and I thought you were off trying to find a sledge hammer.” He picked up the bottle between his palms and dropped it in Steve’s hands. Steve huffed a laugh and examined the bottle; he opened it and put a drop of the polish in the palm of his hand, evaluating it in his strange, hyper-focused way. Sam looked back at his fingers and estimated another 8 or 9 minutes before coat two.

“I like this one, too.” Steve stated, leaning far in to place the bottle back within Sam’s reach with a clack. He really didn’t want to leave the doorway. “Looks like a beach sky. Maybe a green robin’s egg? I thought you were going for dark colors, though?”

Sam considered his hands; it was strange to see such a light color in his nailbeds. He really had been sticking to the darks, figuring that other colors wouldn’t look good against his skin. But, actually, this one wasn’t so bad. The cool blues brought attention to his hands in a way which the others hadn’t. He wasn’t ready yet to leap into any khakis or highlighters, but Mint Mojito was a nice change. Maybe just for spring and summer though, he couldn’t see wearing it in winter.

“Wanted to try something different, Buck’s got the dark polish market cornered, you know.” Steve smiled and said nothing, poking at the little blob in his palm. Sam decided to take a leap.

“Want me to paint yours?” he asked. Steve started a little bit and then furrowed his brow, thinking.

“Okay? Sure, why not? You think it’ll look okay on me?” Sam felt his smile seeping into his cheeks.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve beamed down at his palm and peaked up at Sam through his eyelashes.

“But first go take a shower, boy, you smell like a locker room,” Sam snipped.

He watched Steve’s enthusiastic shuffle-bounce out of the doorway and up the stairs. Then he very, very gingerly tapped the nails of his forefingers together. Still sticky. 


End file.
